Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I (23 page)

Corran replied with a wave of indifference sent in Frang’s direction. Why did he care what Frang thought? Frang was the reason he was in this situation to start with.

/Yes, I chose to go into you. I always wanted to see inside the head of someone who hated me. It’s been a thoroughly joyous experience
./

For once Frang’s dry sarcasm prompted a half–smile on Corran’s lips, but a sharp jolt in his stomach reminded him of the situation. He risked opening his eyes and found himself in a tiny room. The bed he lay on took up nearly all the space. The door was ajar and somewhere nearby a woman hummed. He glanced down at himself. His shoulder was bandaged as well as the arm Huw had cut. He attempted to wriggle to test his body, but regretted it when a spasm ran out from his shoulder and the fingers on one hand shouted back.

So he couldn’t move. Not easily, anyway. If he had been left in the forest, he’d probably be dead by now. But this woman with the proddy fingers and the bumpy cart was going to prolong it.

/Corran
!/

What?
he
groaned, closing his eyes. Maybe he could just sleep away most of this. Maybe the pain would get too much and he wouldn’t wake up. Or maybe he could convince the woman to give him something a little too strong. That would be nice…

/Stop it! Stop thinking like that
!/

Why?
A memory of earlier rose and the curiosity stirred him.
And what did you do earlier? Why were you helping me? You warmed me up.

/Dragons produce heat. Fire, remember
?/

Okay.
But why?

Frang sighed.
/It’s not that hard to work out. If you die, I die
./

Oh.
It did make sense, now he thought about it.

/If we work together – I know, hard to imagine – but if we do, we could get out of this.
We could live
./

Corran considered this for a few seconds before replying, allowing himself to sink back into the depression as he did.
But why would I want to? What do I do, if I live? I can’t go home. I can’t go after the Firesouls. If Huw finds out I’m alive he’ll try and kill me again. Why bother fighting? It’s not like I want
you
to live.

/Yes, I think we’ve established that by now.
But your girl – Tilda.
Isn’t she worth living for
?/

Huw’s last words before he’d fallen off that cliff came back to him with a jolt. He would have sat up if the attempt to do so hadn’t sent another lightning bolt of pain through his body. Tilda was near. And Huw had threatened her.

He had to find her
,
he had to warn her
! But would she even listen to him? They’d had no contact since she’d left and now… what would she make of him?
Bloodied and filthy, with a dragon inside him.
How could he go to her like this? How could he ever show his face to her?

/She still needs to be warned
./

I know
. Corran fought through the fog in his brain to try and think up a plan, but right now he could do nothing. He couldn’t even sit up.

/Let the woman look after you. Let your body heal. Then we can leave, we can find her
./

Corran found himself nodding in agreement. It made sense. But he couldn’t wait too long. He had to get to her before Huw…

*

Corran had no idea how many hours had passed of restless sleep and being tended by the woman who’d brought him here. When he managed to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed, Frang informed him it had been four days. His body
still ached and he had to bite his tongue hard to stop himself yelling at the pain when he knocked his shoulder against the doorway. This might be harder than he’d thought, but four days was far too long to have stayed here. He had to find Tilda and warn her, he couldn’t wait any longer.

He felt reluctance from Frang but heard no arguments. The dragon seemed content enough that Corran had got up and mostly stopped focusing on how bad his life had turned. He had no idea what he would do after he had warned Tilda though. He couldn’t stay with her, not like this. He hobbled out, trying to find the best way to walk that wouldn’t spark pain.

/You’re not going to get anywhere walking like that
./

Not planning to walk,
Corran replied in his head as he grunted out loud, doing his best to muffle the sound. The fingers on his left hand were broken but he kept that hanging at his side.

/Well if you’re expecting me to help you sprout wings–/

A horse. I’m going to find a horse.

He trudged towards the door of the house and despite one stumble avoided waking the woman. He hadn’t spoken to her beyond please and thank you. She’d tried questioning him on what had happened but had quickly got the message from his grunted non–responses and didn’t push. He wished he could thank her – even though a small part of him still wasn’t convinced he should have accepted her help – but he didn’t want her knowing where he was going. In his head, his mother raged at him for being ungrateful. If she was here now she’d march him back to grovel – except, no. She’d glare at him and despise him for being a traitor to the family.

He stepped outside and found himself in a tiny, silent hamlet with just a handful of houses. The moon was full and
peeked out through clouds, lighting the area enough for him to make out a cart that must have been the one that had pulled him here. He crept towards it, or more specifically, to the small shed it nestled against. He made himself move slower so he wouldn’t startle the horse and walked around to the side to peer over.

A donkey lay there. It stared up at him, snorted once, and returned to chewing on hay.

Corran turned to stare around the village. Every other house was just that, apart from a couple of chicken coops. This was the closest he was going to get.

First his father refusing him year after year.
Then a horse so old it was actually going bald. Next a decent horse that had run off at the first sight of trouble. And now, after all that, he was stuck with a
donkey
.

/Tasty
./

What
?!
Rolls of shock and outrage rolled through Corran but Frang just burst into laughter.
It belongs to someone!

/Calm down, Corran, it was a joke! We can’t eat people’s
donkeys,
we’re stuck with wild animals. And you’re one to talk, you’re stealing it
!/

Why would you joke about that? Are you
trying
to make me hate you more?

/Oh please, you hate me fine on your own. I just need a joke every once in a while and this is the first chance I’ve had in days. What else have I got to keep me amused
?/

More than ‘once in a while’,
Corran grumbled as he reached for the gate and swung it open.

The donkey turned into a dog, hackles rising at the intrusion. Corran froze, letting the donkey glare at him for a
good five minutes until it got bored and went back to its hay. This might be more difficult than he had expected.

He crept closer, but it was difficult to move smoothly and not jar his shoulder and arm. He paused to steady himself and reached one hand up to push the lid off the side of a food box, digging in to get a handful of nuts. He held them out to the donkey, not convinced it wouldn’t bite his hand in an attempt to get them.

The donkey rose to its feet so quickly Corran fell backwards, the nuts scattering on the floor as he grabbed the wall to keep himself upright. The donkey ignored them and went straight for the food box, knocking the now–loose lid to the floor and digging its nose inside. The sound of crunching filled the stall.

He reached out one hand and placed it on the donkey’s shoulder. It didn’t even twitch; it carried on eating the nuts. He took his hand away and looked around, finding a stool and dragging that over. Holding onto the side of the shed, he stepped up onto it. He placed his good hand on the donkey’s side for several long seconds, expecting it to snap at him or shuffle away – but it didn’t move at all. Apparently food was the way to this donkey’s heart. He lifted his leg, being careful not to pull at his shoulder as he moved, and slid onto the donkey’s back. He could have been a fly, for
all the
donkey noticed.

“Hey… hey donkey. Come on, we need to go,” he whispered to the animal, patting at its shoulder. It didn’t move. He reached for the rope that served as reins and after a little jostling with the donkey that did not want to part with its food, pulled it up over the donkey’s head. He tugged on the rope, digging in his heels. It still didn’t move.

/Maybe wait till it’s done eating
?/

Corran sighed, fidgeting to try and get into a more comfortable position. He felt exposed, sitting on the donkey and clearly visible above the walls of the stall. He just had to hope Frang’s memory of a main road near here that would lead to Droighair was correct.

The donkey crunched at the nuts for another ten minutes before pausing, withdrawing its head from the box and harrumphing. Corran tried once more, pulling on the rope to get its head away from the box and digging his feet in – and this time, it moved. It was slow – so slow Corran could have walked faster, if he’d had the energy. But he didn’t, so he slouched on the
donkey’s
back and let it lead him out of the village and into the forest night.

CHAPTER
21

T
he moment Garth died, this race for the eggs had turned into a sprint.
A long, hard, miserable, cold sprint.

Conversation was scarce as they made their way up into the mountains. The path they had taken was not too steep at first but it was narrow, forcing them to walk single–file. No one complained. Henry’s blackened eye had faded but it was still evidence to remind everyone that at the end of this journey was probably a trap.

The first night was the worst. Giselle still had a fairly clear idea of which direction to go in, but it was just a matter of following the road climbing higher and higher. With nowhere else to go they slept on that same path, exposed to the strong winds. The oncoming summer had all but disappeared and the drizzle from Cridhal continued to spatter down on them. If she had still been in her old dress with just the shawl she wasn’t sure she’d have even made it through the first night. Baltair blew out heat to keep her warm but that didn’t get rid of the rain. When Sarra and Gerard stirred them the next morning no one had slept much. The lustre of the mountains she had always imagined washed away as they continued to trudge upwards.

The second day, the path split. A waterfall in the distance prompted a new wave of memories and Baltair directed them
left, further into the mountains. It was more sheltered than before and everyone was grateful for a break from the relentless wind that shoved
them
harder the higher they went. After three days the rain ceased as well.

With her thoughts about Simon less volatile it was easier to slip back into old routines with Baltair. They
talked
as everyone else was silent. The path was wider now but she stayed alone at the front apart from Sarra a few paces behind. Sometimes Sarra would catch up and explain more dragon lore, everything she’d need to be a Flier. It made more sense now, why she’d been taught all of this back in Cridhal. Baltair gave her knowledge as well from his memories. In the evenings she sat apart from the others, just as she had when she’d been travelling with them through Auland, and talked with Baltair.

They didn’t discuss what lay at the end of this road. Instead they remembered life back in Tyrun. It wasn’t precisely fond memories when so much of it had been scraping to survive, but it had been stressful in a different way. She had known and understood her lot there and there had been good times too. Like the start of her first try in the temple as an initiate, when she’d made friends with a girl who had exactly the same colour hair. The time she’d stolen a jewel ring thinking it was just a trinket and had feasted for a week. The time–